Page 1 of Finding Faith (Seduced in Scotland #2)

Scottish Highlands, 1856

Dearest Faith,

I am writing to inform you that the painting, Odalisque Reclined, has been sold to a private collector. I am aware of the promise I made to you, but the stipend was too grand to ignore, especially if I’m to ever live beyond my commissions. Please accept my apologies and this monetary gift, as I believe it is what you aredue.

I hope you will forgive me.

Sincerely,

Donovan

Faith Sharpe stared at the letter in her hand, mouth agape, as a tremor went through her. This could not be happening. It was a jest, surely. A poorly conceived joke of some sort. Donovan had promised never to sell that particular piece, and she had believed him. He had sworn that it would only ever be used to illustrate his talent to prospective clients and that he would keep it in his possession forever. Cherish it for a lifetime. Those were the exact words he had used.

He couldn’t have sold it.

Faith crushed the letter in her fist and brought it to her pursed lips without thinking. This was, without a doubt, the worst thing that could ever happen to her. Particularly during breakfast.

“Faith?”

Looking up, she quickly remembered that she wasn’t alone. She was, in fact, completely surrounded by her family. Her elder sister, Hope, sat across the dining room table, her brow pinched together with concern. Faith dropped her hand to the edge of the timeworn wooden table. Everything in Lismore Hall was timeworn. It had been the generational home of the MacKinnon family for hundreds of years. That is, until Aunt Belle won it in a card game.

“Yes?” Faith croaked.

“Are you all right?”

Three other pairs of eyes landed on Faith. Her younger sister, Grace, their great-aunt, Lady Belle Smyth, and Hope’s husband, Graham MacKinnon, all stared at Faith with curiosity.

“Your cheeks are rather pale,” Grace said with a slight frown. “Has something happened?”

For a moment, Faith didn’t know how to answer. Of course she wasn’t all right, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She had always been a very private person, and she had never told anyone about the painting. Especially not her sisters.

Glancing around the table ladened with apple-and-honey tarts, sausages, puddings, and jams, she wondered what she could say that would distract everyone. Her brother-in-law shared the same concerned look as her sisters, but Aunt Belle gaze appeared keenly interested in the letter she was holding.

She could not tell them the truth. As much as she loved her family, Faith was not the kind of woman to reveal such personal things, even to those who were closest to her. Nor was she the type to panic. And even if she were, she certainly wouldn’t do so in a room full of people.

She needed to leave immediately.

Swallowing, she dropped her hand into her lap.

“Nothing has happened. I am quite well,” she lied as she stood up. “May I be excused?”

“My dear, what news have you received?” her aunt asked. Belle’s bejeweled hand rose and pointed to Faith’s fist. “Who has written you?”

Faith quickly tucked the crumpled letter into the folds of her canary-colored skirt.

“Ah, well, it’s from…” Faith stalled before spitting out the first name that came to mind. “Renee. It’s a letter from Renee Delaney.”

“Renee?” Grace repeated, her frown deepening. “Didn’t you just receive a letter from her yesterday?”

“Yes, I did, but this one is about a different matter,” Faith said quickly. “Renee’s brother is engaged.” A servant came up to push her chair in as she moved around it. “Evidently, the wedding is to take place this July.”

“Oh no,” Hope said, going to stand as well. “I’m so sorry, Faith. Are you sure you are all right?”

Guilt washed over Faith, hearing the concern in Hope’s voice. It wasn’t a lie, technically. Faith had learned that her former beau had proposed to Miss Molly Sheffield in yesterday’s letter, but she perhaps being a tiny bit manipulative when she framed it as the reason she was upset. She knew that her sisters still believed her to be infatuated with Mr. Delaney, but the truth was that at present, she couldn’t care less about him. Still, it was an acceptable excuse to try and be alone. Otherwise, she’d have to explain why there was a very large, very revealing painting of her being shipped to a private collector.

Heaven above, let it be on a ship to Australia.

Swallowing her embarrassment, she shook her head.

“I’m quite all right,” Faith said with a nod. “I just wish to be excused.”

“Shall I go with you?” Grace asked, coming to stand, but Faith held out her hand to stay her.

“No. No, I would just like a bit of time. Please,” Faith said, noting the pity in the collective faces that stared at her.

“Of course, dear,” Belle said, nodding as she looked around the company. “Take all the time you need. We shan’t bother you.”

“Thank you.”

Turning on her heel, Faith exited the ancient dining room, her leather boots clicking loudly against the flagstone floor of Lismore Hall. She couldn’t bear the idea of being cornered by one or both of her sisters who would try and force her into talking about things she could not speak of. She needed to escape, to leave the hall for a bit to sort all this out.

Oh, why had she ever posed for that painting?

As a footman opened the front door for her, Faith nodded her thanks and hurried down the stone steps. She, of course, knew the answer to her question. She had fancied herself in love with Donovan and would have done anything to please him.

The long-forgotten humiliation of their relationship resurfaced in her mind. The memories of all their encounters spilled over her as she headed for the forest path that lay to the west of Lismore Hall. Donovan had always been so warm and kind, yet he’d held her at arm’s length always, insisting that anticipation of their love would shine through his work. Faith had believed him. She had believed Donovan to be a worldly, poetic soul whose talent far surpassed that of anyone Faith had ever met, and though he’d never so much as kissed her, she had believed that they had shared a genuine and honest love.

Faith had trusted him completely. She had been nervous when he asked to paint her, but had consented when he’d promised never to sell it, explaining that he only wanted a piece of her that he could keep forever. Faith had thought the entire thing terribly romantic. Yet their brief time together, while exceptional, had amounted to little. And when it had ended—abruptly and with no notice—Faith had been left shamed and brokenhearted, while Donovan had packed up his entire life in London and snuck away to Paris.

A gentle thunder rumbled overhead, and Faith’s gaze rose to the sky. It was overcast, and the faint gray hue promised rain. Fitting , she thought as her feet left the crushed stone drive that veered off onto a wooden path around the walled garden.

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her gown, only to feel the envelope stuffed full of banknotes that Donovan had sent with his letter. A heartless gesture, even though she supposed it was his way of apologizing. For a poor painter to part from any money was at least some sort of sign—

No! No. She wouldn’t make excuses for him. It had been difficult enough suffering in silence for months after his unannounced departure. She had barely begun to recover from her heartbreak before she and her sisters had become embroiled in the scandal that had brought them to Scotland last year. Now, twelve months later, her life was completely different from what she had always expected it would be like, but even so, Faith had always slept soundly, believing that Donovan wouldn’t break his promise.

She kicked a stone on the path before her. What a fool she had been to trust him and all his flowery, pretty words. He had said that she was the loveliest creature he had ever seen, and what a shame it would be to hide such beauty from the rest of the world.

Vanity, thy name is Faith.

Perhaps she could write him and ask who had purchased the painting? Or ask Aunt Belle for a loan to try and repurchase it? But no. No, she wouldn’t be able to bear to tell anyone how stupid she had been. She could threaten legal action perhaps, but then she’d have to confess to things she would never willingly admit to—and anyway, she didn’t know any solicitors.

Faith kicked the stone again as she walked between the tall pines, the scents of heather and impending rain in the air. It was useless. Even if she could find the new owner of her painting, she wouldn’t ever have the funds to buy it. And beyond that, she wouldn’t have the backbone to meet the owner, knowing they would probably instantly recognize her as the model in the portrait.

She sighed, concluding that she simply had to pray that she wouldn’t see recognition in the eyes of every new person she met.

Oh, good Lord, it was going to be a long life.

A cool breeze blew across the grassy meadow that opened up beyond the scope of pines, shaking her from her internal suffering. Faith looked up and caught sight of Loch Fyne stretched out beneath the rolling mountains of the Highlands. Grace had come to this spot weekly to gather bog myrtle and tormentil, medicinal herbs that Dr. Barkley paid her to collect. Gazing across the choppy water, she tilted her head back as her eyes lifted. Rough rock sheared through the green ground further up the slope, and she was briefly taken away from her misery as she stared in awe at the harsh yet stunning landscape.

At least she would never run into that horrible painting out here in the wilds of Scotland.

“Blasted hell!” a man’s voice suddenly called out, startling her.

Faith glanced around but saw no one. Her brow pinched together as a smattering of curses continued to echo around her. She knew that voice, was certain she had heard it plenty of times before, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Peering down by the loch’s edge where a large, partially flat boulder the size of four men stood, she heard a scuffle of what sounded like a stick hitting the ground. Picking up her yellow skirt, she moved a few paces to the left to peer around the rock, only to frown at who she saw.

Logan Harris stood on the bank of the loch, apparently beating the ground with a long stick. A tall, blackish-gray dog sat near his feet, short, stumpy tail wagging in the dirt as he watched his master.

Instantly displeased, Faith sent up a silent curse herself. Was this to be a day with uncomfortable shocks at every turn? Logan Harris was one of her least favorite people, as he had made her and her sisters’ arrival in the Highlands anything but pleasant. Not only was he unbearably rude, but Faith had never met someone so argumentative in her entire life. And if he wasn’t arguing with her, he ignored her, which only added to her dislike of him.

Unfortunately, Logan Harris was Graham McKinnon’s oldest and dearest friend, and he was a frequent guest at Lismore Hall, though Faith had done her best to avoid him during his visits.

She watched him for another moment as he fought with what looked like a fishing rod and a wicker basket slung around his chest. She smirked, enjoying the sight of this usually self-possessed man letting his frustration get the better of him. She was convinced that she was witnessing all she needed to know about him at that moment. He often demonstrated a calm, cool, and collected exterior to everyone, but Faith knew he had a simmering temper bubbling just below the surface. This simply proved it.

Having seen enough, she was about to turn back, hoping to avoid him altogether without her presence being discovered, when he suddenly stopped flailing about and stilled, causing her to pause.

His chest expanded and contracted quickly, almost unnaturally. Even from a distance, Faith could see his eyes were shut tightly, and his mouth was closed, his entire face pained. Was he ill? His hair, which wasn’t dark enough to be considered brown nor light enough to be called blond, was tousled by the wind as his tall form seemed to rattle with ragged breath.

Tilting her head with curiosity, Faith watched, waiting for him to settle. It was clear he was trying to calm himself down from whatever annoyance he had been struggling with, but the longer she watched him, the more his face scrunched up, almost as if he was fighting some internal battle.

A small part of her worried that he might be seriously ill or hurt. While Faith wasn’t particularly interested in Mr. Harris’s well-being, a small, decent part of her told her that if a person were in distress, she should try to help him. By the look on his face, she could see that he wasn’t doing well, and as much as it grated her to consider helping him, something propelled her forward.

Faith took a step forward without looking down and stepped on a stick.

SNAP!

The massive, blackish-gray dog turned his head instantly. Shoot .

Now it would undoubtedly appear as though she had been spying on him. Sure enough, when she glanced back up, Logan stared in her direction as the large animal began sauntering toward her, growling with its teeth bared.

Dread splinted within Faith’s chest. She didn’t like big dogs. She’d had the misfortune of being bitten by a neighbor’s dog in her youth and had tried to avoid them ever since. She strained to recall what Grace had told her about dogs. They could sense fear, supposedly, and responded aggressively if they felt you were closing in on them. If she remained still, she should be fine.

Squaring her shoulders, she spoke loudly.

“M-Mr. Harris,” she called out. “Please restrain your animal. I’ve no wish to be mauled this morning.”

For a moment, she worried that he might not have heard her, for the dog continued to amble toward her in a predatory way. Surely he wouldn’t let the dog attack, would he?

“Heel, Jaco,” he said after a moment, and the dog instantly sat, though he kept his eyes on Faith.

Faith took a bracing breath and walked straight ahead, though she kept a fair distance between herself and the animal. Coming to a stop only a few feet away from the water’s edge, she nodded politely, noting that his breathing had returned to normal. Since he clearly did not need assistance, she saw no reason to mention his earlier state.

“I’m sorry to have interrupted your fishing expedition,” she said. “May I ask what you are doing on this side of the loch?”

“No, you may not,” he said stiffly as he stared back at her, his hazel eyes locked on her face.

She glared at him. What an awful man, indeed.

Well, that’s what she got for trying to be neighborly. Her mouth set in a hard line as she gazed into his oval-shaped face. His straight, thick eyebrows were darker than the rest of his hair, making it easy to spot even from a distance when his perpetual scowl deepened. Faith had often noted that his evenly proportioned mouth was usually pointed down when they met, as if he couldn’t help but frown whenever he saw her.

He was attractive in a classical way, which made Faith’s dislike for him all the more potent. If he had been ugly or scarred, she might have forgiven his poor manners and ill temper, but to be handsome in the most apparent way left little charity in her opinion of him. Still, she had to remind herself she wasn’t attracted to the discourteous Scotsman.

“Very well then,” she said as she gathered her skirts to move around him. She would continue her walk north around the eastern shore of the loch and wait somewhere until he left before making her way back home. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“What are you doing out here so early? And alone?” he asked, causing her to stop.

“It’s no concern of yours,” she said, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He took a step toward her.

“A lady, however imprudent,” he said, “shouldn’t be walking around alone at this hour of the day.”

“Why? Will one of your kelpies steal me away?” she asked sarcastically, referring to the local legend. Though her sisters had found the locals’ folk stories charming, Faith did not. “Keep your fairytales to yourself, Mr. Harris. I have a practical mind.”

“And yet you wear no overcoat or wrap during a storm.”

“What storm?”

As if by divine intervention, the skies above opened up as a torrential downpour opened over them. The self-satisfied smirk on the man’s face made her want to stomp her foot, but instead, she stuck out her chin.

“A light drizzle will not deter me,” she said as a crack of thunder sounded in the distance.

Amusement flashed in his eyes, and Faith had to fight off the irrational bemusement she felt as he gazed at her.

“Come,” he said, walking toward her. “I’ll see you back to Lismore.”

“No,” she said, holding her hand up, stopping him. “I do not need an escort.”

“It’s raining.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” She stood on her tippy toes to look around one of his large shoulders. “And considering you’ve a very long boat ride home, I would think you’d like to start on your own way back to your side of the loch.”

Logan glanced over his shoulder before looking back at her.

“Graham would not like it if I saw you out here in this weather and didn’t see you safely home.”

“My brother-in-law need not know we even met.”

“ I would know.”

“Then do your best to forget it,” she quipped, turning around.

Faith took a step, unaware of how slick the rocks on this portion of the shore could be particularly in the rain. Her foot slipped off the moss-covered rock. Bracing herself by bringing her hands up, she was holding her breath, waiting to see if her balance would hold, when a sudden strong arm wrapped around her chest, hoisting her backward.

Spooked by the sudden grab, Faith spun herself around in his arms and pushed at Logan’s chest, throwing him off balance as they both fell into the shallow waters of the loch.

SPLASH!

The dog, Jaco, began barking and leaping from side to side on the shore.

“Augh!” Logan bellowed as he tried to push Faith up. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Me?” she said as the icy waters soaked into her gown. “You’re the one who grabbed me!”

“To stop you from falling!” he snapped, turning to the dog. “Jaco, stop.”

The dog instantly stopped barking.

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Faith asked, her hands clawing at his chest as she tried to stabilize herself.

“Because I’d sooner marry an eel then try anything with you.”

“Believe me, an eel would be a welcomed companion if I could trade him for you,” Faith said as she struggled to stand.

Logan got to his feet, hauling her out of the water within seconds. Faith began to shake. Spring weather in the Highlands was unpredictable, and the waters this far north were still frigid. Logan held her close to his chest, and Faith could feel a heat emanating from him even though he was soaked. She looked up and stared into his face.

His nose was large and straight, and to her surprise, she saw several flecks of peculiarly white skin on the underside of his chin, almost as if he had been burned. She frowned. What had caused that?

As her breathing steadied, her eyes lifted to his mouth, where his bottom lip hung slightly open. Further up, her eyes met his and she saw an intensity in his glare that she had never witnessed before. She shivered then, which seemed to knock him out of a trance. He pulled her roughly toward the shore.

“You’ll catch your death,” Logan said gruffly. “Come on, get your feet out of the water.”

He tried to help her by holding her hand, but she snatched it out of his grip.

“I can fare just fine without you.”

He glowered at her, his gaze dark.

“Fine then, go.”

Holding her chin up, Faith tried her best to walk out of the water without tripping. Unfortunately, the rocks in the water were just as dangerous as those on the shore. She would have toppled over again, except that Logan’s hands landed on her waist, steadying her from behind.

Though it irritated her greatly, she allowed him to steer her out of the water, stomping away from him once she was beyond the rocks. Jaco approached her, sniffing at her water-logged skirts as she backed away from him.

“Stop that. Shoo. Go away.”

“Jaco, sit,” Logan said in a firm voice, and the dog sat. Logan turned to Faith, his hazel eyes shining with some sort of bemusement. “What is it? You don’t like dogs?”

“I don’t like big dogs,” she corrected him, eyeing the animal. “Particularly ones who look like they bite.”

“Jaco doesn’t bite.”

“Then why did he bare his teeth at me before?”

“He probably thought you were someone dangerous,” he said before adding, “and as he’s a poor judge of character, he doesn’t find you all that threatening.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“It’s a wonder he remains your pet then, considering your character.”

Faith had once overheard Logan and Graham discussing a plot to marry her sister Hope so that Graham could regain ownership of Lismore Hall. It had been a wicked plan and though everything eventually worked out in the end, and she knew that Graham truly loved Hope for herself and not merely her inheritance, Faith had never quite forgiven Logan for his involvement.

It seemed he hadn’t forgotten either.

“I will not apologize for trying to help Graham,” he said. “And from what I understand, you’ve forgiven him for it.”

“Yes, because he is family now. But that doesn’t negate your involvement.”

“I was merely supporting a friend. Besides, they are happily married now, are they not?”

“Only because they fell in love,” Faith said, before adding under her breath, “impractical as that is.”

“Indeed.”

Her gaze met his and she cocked her head.

“See? We can agree on at least one thing, Mr. Harris. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to Lismore Hall. I can’t carry on in these wet clothes.”

“I will escort you—”

“No. No, I think I’ve suffered enough of your company for one day.”

To her surprise, he let out a snicker as she turned away to trudge back the way she’d come. The rain began to come down even harder. If she hadn’t already been drenched, Faith would have guessed that the walk home would have been enough to soak her. When she finally reached the garden wall of Lismore, she glanced over her shoulder to see that Logan hadn’t followed her. But Jaco had. The dog paused upon seeing her stop.

“Go away. Shoo.” But he didn’t move. She let out a breath. “Foolish dog. Jaco. Go.”

The dog’s ears perked up at his name, and at the command, he turned, trotting off down the path that he had followed her down.

What a terrible day, indeed.